It had felt like an age had gone by in the blink of an eye. She still remembers her hurried rush from the campsite, whatever possessions she had left tucked away in her rucksack or clutched tightly to her chest. Her legs protested, her lungs burned, her face reddened. It was all [i]too much[/i]...

That primal fear of being locked up within the Gallows again crept up on her so suddenly, she did not have time to think rationally about the events she had just witnessed. Her teacher, her father, gone with the wind. She rushed and she ran until she could move no further, and as she sat beneath that crooked old tree to catch her breath, Dorothea finally reasserted herself enough to take a look those meager belongings Master Deylin had left behind. The journal was incomprehensible, a smattering of scribbles, chicken scratchings and illegible symbols that meant nothing to the young mage, no matter how many memories of training and teaching lead by the old wizard she dug up from the back of her mind. On it's final page, she noted a scribble she could read. A simple title and name. "[i]Sir Dorian[/i]". She did not recognize it, and filed the information away in her head.

And then there was the [i]token[/i]. She almost missed it when she first picked up the journal, as it slipped out of it's protective paper fold as she grabbed the leather-bound book. Whether it was fate or some instinctual part of her psyche, Dorothea grabbed it and thought nothing more of it. She had clutched it carefully in her hands. It was...agreeable to the touch, it's black material cold against her soft fingers, yet it's name a [i]mystery[/i] to the mage. The gold-filled engraved artwork reminded her of a number of tomes in the Gallows library, but she dared not dwell long on that memory for fear of another panic attack overtaking her.

[hider=Strange Token][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/814145336087543851/1136328743334445147/Pins.png[/img][/hider]

Most peculiar of all, on it's back she found something akin to a signature. She did not recognize the name or lettering with one exception. Somerset, a town on the Plains. An expansive hub of commerce, if she recalled her studies correctly.

She now had a location and a name, but no context. For all she knew this could be a wild goose chase fueled only by a vain hope that it would lead her back to her mentor. Yet in the end, she grasped at this miniscule opportunity, and did not look back. As the rainclouds began to roll in overhead, the mage dirtied up her identifying mage robes with dirt and grime. It wouldn't escape close inspection, but from afar she'd hopefully appear as just another robed peasant. The coming rain proved to be a boon for that ruse. After all, nobody liked getting their hair wet.

By the time she found Somerset, the sun had long since dropped below the horizon. She was cold, soaked and tired, yet pressed onward regardless, for fear of a halt would make her legs give out from underneath her. A few discreet inquiries to the occasional passers-by yielded her little information, aside from directions to a local tavern. [i]Lock and Key[/i] they called it. A strange name, though Dorothea would not voice that opinion out loud...

Finding said tavern wasn't an easy task, but eventually after an hour of fruitless searching, she stumbled inside with a relieved sigh. Regardless of if this Sir Dorian was present, she was simply happy to be out of the rain. After a few welcome moments warming herself by the fire, she began her search in earnest. Noting the appearance of the patrons as their faces and apparel faded in and out of soft shadows, her eyes landed upon the supposed barkeep, clad in steel armor of all things. Nervously noting if any others were in turn watching her, and finding nothing, Dorothea took a deep breath, smothered her fear and walked up to the man. He noticed her approach right away, eyebrow curiously raised as she presented herself before him.

[color=FF00FF]"A-Are yo-you by any...um...c-chance, S-Sir Dorian?"[/color] Mentally, she admonished herself. Her voice tiredly quivered and stammered. Not a good first impression...

[color=1E90FF]"Who wishes to know?"[/color] Came the curt reply back, and Dorothea almost completely forgot about the token in the folds of her robes. Quickly retrieving the piece and handing it over, the man smiled and nodded. With a wordless motion, he showed her in behind the bar, and she mutely followed. Entering a small room, she would be lying if she said she didn't jump a little when Sir Dorian closed the door behind her, or that she was not along within the chamber's confines.

[color=FF00FF]"Oh."[/color] Came her moronic response, as her gaze settled upon two visions of great feminine beauty, features blessed by Elvian ancestry, or some unknown exotic source, silenced whatever other words she tried to formulate. She felt embarrassed heat creeping across her cheeks, and thanked all the Gods in the heavens above for the low light of the room, and her decision to leave her hood on when she first entered. What had she gotten herself entangled into?